


Doorways to Darkness

by svedka9



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svedka9/pseuds/svedka9
Summary: Fhirdiad is recaptured, but Dimitri feels out of place and doubts his ability to lead. Time alone with Dedue would help, but he's suddenly hard to find…
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Doorways to Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up to my earlier story, Prince of Fire and Glass, but can be read as a standalone. This one spins on for a while before it gets to the meat of the matter (and yet still, somehow, manages to have no plot). If you're just here for porn, (a) go read Prince of Fire and Glass, and/or (b) CTRL+F for the asterisk in this post.

The professor led me to the victory feast by the hand, like a child. I, the newly returned Prince of Faerghus, who conquered derangement and death, destroyed my enemies, and reclaimed my father's castle, now toddled wide-eyed and helpless behind my teacher. It was embarrassing, but also a profound comfort. I would spend the rest of my life having to lead, so I cherished these small moments where I could simply let go—where someone else could take charge and make decisions, and I could be peaceably strung along.

The celebration had been going on for some time when we arrived. Still, though the great dining hall was full of people, it somehow seemed empty and spare. Eager soldiers tore down Cornelia's banners and any red and gold imperial decoration as soon as we captured the place, but there was nothing yet to replace them. Just naked, unwelcoming stone, like the walls of a dungeon. Plain wooden tables, piles of rushes on the floor. The castle had originally been built for defense, not comfort, but it was still starker than I remembered. 

At least they'd removed the bodies. 

As soon as we crossed the threshold, the room went quiet and a sea of heads turned to look at us. At me. I wanted to shrink away, but the professor's hand held me still. I scanned the crowd, full of soldiers and citizens alike: some looked pleased or admiring, some looked nervous, some looked away, and others' faces were crossed with skepticism. 

I hoped no one would make a point of my arrival, but Sylvain, ever the master of things I didn't want, climbed up on a bench and pounded his hands together. "Let's hear it for Prince Dimitri, the Savior of Faerghus!" 

The crowd roared and raised their fists. A merciful goddess would have let me melt into the floor. 

But it did break the awful silence, and after I waved them off, most of them went back to what they were doing. The professor let go of my hand, clapped me on the back… and left me alone in the doorway. I watched him walk over to where the Ashen Wolves gathered in a corner. I wanted so badly to go with him, to hide under his coat and drink in the marvel of his ability to hold everyone's attention while saying next to nothing. But in his gestures, there was always a lesson: _I got you this far, now you have to learn to stand on your own._ She was a pitiless goddess indeed, what dwelled behind his eyes. 

There was nothing for it. I had faced down charging warhorses and rampaging monsters. Escaped a coup. Survived countless assassinations. Earlier that day, I'd climbed one of Cornelia's dolls and rammed my lance through its eye; even Balthus von Albrecht shed an admiring tear. I could make it through one dinner in a crowd. 

I took a few steps forward and looked around the room, hoping to see a friendly face. There was Annette, weaving between people with a plate full of food, probably looking for her father. Sylvain had gotten down off the bench and set his full attention on whatever unfortunate girl he was wooing. Felix noticed me and turned his back, but even that was a comfort—it was grounding, real. I couldn't help but smile. 

I realized with a sinking heart that Dedue wasn't there. New platters were still being brought up from the kitchens, so he was probably down there, directing the food preparation while avoiding the scorn of a room full of Faerghans. I understood it, but his absence was crushing. Even from across the room, even if we couldn't speak, I could've used his broad, steady figure to anchor me—a place to turn my gaze when I felt adrift and know that I would always find warmth and acceptance there, even if I stumbled over my words, or broke a dish, or frightened a maid, or… 

Or wasn't sane. 

Is that what I was? When I was a child and heard of men described as "mad," I'd always imagined them as demented, raving, unrecognizable to those who loved them. As if one's true mind were locked in a prison carriage and their madness were a horse out of control, dragging it down the mountainside at breakneck speed. But I had never felt out of control, or like I wanted to stop myself and couldn't. The dead wanted me to slay their enemies and I did; I listened to their pleas and _chose_ to, like it was the most rational thing in the world. 

If it came so naturally, would I recognize it if it came again? It was a horrible thought. The civilians who came in from the city at our invitation, the soldiers who piled their helmets by the door and shook out their hair before taking a drink, my retainers and friends so cheerful after our hard-won victory—how many could I be convinced to kill in such a "rational" manner? 

None of them deserved a king so easily goaded by the splinters of his broken mind. Was anyone in Fódlan helped by my presence? What about Gronder, where I'd slain entire battalions of Leicester's army? Claude shot at me, probably as a distraction, but I didn't care; I took Rodrigue's horse and chased him halfway across the field screaming for blood before he flew out of reach. It was all such mindless hatred. Relations between our countries would never be repaired. 

A distraction… I could've used one. 

I thought of going down to the kitchens, but I'd just get in the way down there, and Dedue was doing good work without needing to attend to me. The feast he'd managed to put together was astonishing for wartime: little meat, but plenty of bread and dried fruit, spiced vegetables, soups, cheese, and enough wine to drown the rushes. I was grateful. The people of Fhirdiad had suffered for so long; they deserved a well-prepared meal. Most of what was in the stores was probably bought with money Cornelia stole from them anyway. 

"Oh, Dimitri!" 

I turned to see Mercedes trotting up to me with a silver tray and a bright smile. I was glad to see her. 

"Have you tried these garlic polenta slices Ashe made?" She lifted the tray to show me: palm-sized cutouts of cornmeal piled with mushrooms and herbs. "They're so delicious, they're just flying off the plates! I made sure to save you some." 

If they were that popular, they were wasted on me. I'd have been best served finding the blandest thing in the room that no one wanted and eating it before it spoiled. "That's so thoughtful, Mercedes," I said. "But Ashe can cook for me anytime. Why not share it with people who might never get a chance otherwise?" 

"Ah, you're right!" Whether she'd fallen for my ruse or was simply pretending to, I couldn't tell. "You're always thinking of others, aren't you? I know you're nervous, but I think you'll make a wonderful king." 

If only it were that simple. She rushed off again, probably looking for anyone too shy to approach the tables. 

"And _I_ ," said a small but dignified voice behind me, "Have exactly what you need!" 

It was Flayn, bearing a ceramic plate of the most tasteless uncooked vegetables in the Kingdom. 

"Oh, Flayn," I said, accepting the plate from her tiny hands. "You are truly a gift." 

I was hungry, and I got through a few before Seteth found us, guided as ever by a sharp sense for his sister's proximity to men. He relaxed visibly when he saw it was me, which… seemed odd, all things considered. 

"Ah, Your Highness. Well met. Your hospitality is most appreciated." 

"The Church of Seiros is always welcome here," I said. "We could not have taken victory without your assistance." 

"I wonder. Still, all we require as thanks is your commitment to march on Enbarr as soon as… we… are… are you eating a plate of raw radishes?" 

I supposed I was. "Is there a problem?" 

"No, I…" He scratched his head and looked back at the tables. "I could have sworn those were part of the garnish. Are the stems even edible?" 

" _Anyway,_ Brother," Flayn cut in, practically pushing him down the hall. "Let's go bother someone else about their eating habits, shall we? Isn't that Professor Manuela standing upside-down on that wine cask?" 

" _What?_ " 

"Goodbye, Dimitri!" she called, full of cheer. 

Goodbye… 

I was alone again, but I felt much better. I shouldn't have needed to be reminded so often that I was surrounded by people who cared about me. I had to learn to be secure in that knowledge, because in the peaceful future we all hoped for, we'd be living our lives apart. 

_All but Dedue_ , I thought warmly. Dedue would always be there. I wished he would come up and enjoy this feast he had laid, but… it was a selfish thought. 

I chewed on a radish and looked around to see what trouble the others were getting into. There was quite a crowd gathering around Manuela, and they drowned out Seteth's protests with rowdy cheers. Professor Hanneman stood at a table on the other side of the hall, spreading cheese and berries on a heel of bread with closed eyes and a smile like he'd achieved enlightenment. Ingrid was chatting animatedly with some knights, and beside her was Glenn, straight-backed and sure, just like— 

No. No, Glenn was dead. 

But it was him. Even though he was facing away from me, he was taller than Felix and wore his hair loose; I hadn't mistaken them. I felt a strange surge of delight at the _clarity_ of this experience: I could both see the apparition and hold on to the understanding that it wasn't real, just a wisp of smoke that had seeped out of my head. If I could master this, I had nothing to fear. 

I stared at him for a long time, looking for telltale signs of his unreality that would be useful to remember. Being down to one eye gave everything a sort of matte haze anyway, so it wasn't easy to separate the real from the imagined. Soon enough, though, he became aware of me—why shouldn't he, he was part of me—and turned his head slowly to meet my gaze. 

His face was a black smear. 

The plate in my hands cracked in half. 

I cursed quietly and stooped down to gather up the few remaining radishes. When next I looked, he was gone. 

My first thought was to flee, to get out of this room full of emotion and noise and _people_ with soft, bare necks that would split open so easily if I came at them with the edged ceramic weapons I now held. But no… being alone made it worse, I knew that. I had to lean into my interactions with the living in order to keep the dead at bay. I would be all right. This was just the first step; with more training, I could overcome it. 

_Go, go, find someone to talk to,_ I thought. I left the broken plate and the radishes on the table and swept off somewhere else to find my friends. 

I glanced around the hall, but instead of a person, my eye landed on another plate: a tarnished metal charger, barely touched, holding a neat line of fritters topped with bean curd and onion. It was a Duscur dish; I recognized it from years before, when Dedue had been at a particular loss about my palate and I asked him to make me something from his homeland. He'd presented me with a whole seven-course meal, and I couldn't taste any of it… except these, which glittered with a bright red spice that made my eyes water. There was no spice here—Duscur seasonings would never be found in Fhirdiad after he and I left—but otherwise, they looked just the same. 

How sad and shameful to see them here now, left alone in the middle of a feast, too "exotic" for the racist country I was soon to inherit. 

I picked one up and bit into it. Like anything else, its flavor turned to sand in my mouth, but the texture was pleasant and the memory was rich. The table in my private parlor stacked high with foreign dishes, a blaze of color and heat. Dedue standing to one side, watching my face to see how I'd react to each mouthful. Fondness and guilt warring in my chest. 

I would never know how they really tasted. My father introduced me to some Duscur foods before the tragedy, but I couldn't remember them enough to even fake it. Still, these made me happy, and I ate two more standing there. If no one else wanted them, I could pretend Dedue had made them for me alone. It was a way to feel his presence, even when he couldn't be there. Maybe later, when the crowds left and we went to bed, he could feed them to me on his thick fingers. 

A voice hissed at me from behind—" _Slut_." 

I let my eye fall closed and spoke so no one could hear. "I thought I might see you today." 

I turned around and there she was: Patricia, Anselma, my stepmother. Like Glenn, her face was a ruin—a blank, pulpy mass dripping black tar—but I knew her by her dress, the way she held her hands, the hair spun into heavy ringlets that sat on her shoulders. Russet brown, like Edelgard's had been. 

" _Filth,_ " she said. " _You dare stand here making merry, waiting eagerly to be fucked like a pig in rut, while our killers walk free in Enbarr?_ " 

"If Cornelia spoke truly, one of those killers… was you." 

" _You faithless lack-wit. You believe the usurper over your own family?_ " 

For a psychotic hallucination, she had a point. 

" _Or is your brain scrambled by heathen cock?_ " 

" _Stop,_ " I said, with a quick glance to make sure no one noticed. I could bear my own insults all night long, but no one was allowed to speak ill of Dedue. Not even me. 

" _You are unworthy of your father's crown. You are unworthy to stand against my daughter._ " 

I found a metal goblet on the table and filled it with wine from a flagon. I hardly ever drank, even at my lowest, but it seemed an opportune time. "The hell of it is, you're probably not even dead, but you get to haunt me anyway." 

" _I died_ ," she said, taking a step forward. " _I was denied a holy burial. My body was taken and burned. My skin melted to my bones. My soul cries in torment without the light of the Goddess's blessing. And_ you _have forgotten my face._ " 

I stared at her, at the inky void above her neck. I tried to recall it, but nothing would come. Only emptiness. 

" _You can't even hear your father anymore, can you?_ " 

I became aware, suddenly, of how hard I was breathing. 

" _That's how far you have fallen. He can't bear the sight of you. He prefers the agony of hell to a glimpse of your disgrace._ " 

I looked away, into the corner. The professor had gone. To the other side, Felix had somehow detected my disquiet and was staring at me, his amber gaze dangerously narrow. I set the goblet down on the table, undrunk, and stalked out of the hall. 

" _Betrayer!_ " she called after me, as loud in my ear as if we were still within inches. " _Coward! It should have been you who died!_ " 

I made it out onto the terrace and breathed in the bracing chill of my homeland. I took solace from it and waited for my heart to still. If only it were deep winter, and not the northern country's dreary half-spring… it might have cleared my head. 

It was a cloudless night. A few others from the dining hall had spilled out here, but no one whose name I knew. They straightened up immediately when I emerged—out of respect, or fear?—and rather than try to set them at ease, I simply left. The terrace wrapped around the dining hall and had exits to other parts of the castle. 

The further I got from comfort, the more susceptible I'd become, but I… I couldn't stay there. Not with ghosts crowding in and Felix running off to tell anyone who would listen how I was going mad again and ought to be locked up. 

Was he right? 

I crossed back into the castle interior and looked around to get my bearings. There should have been a route to the kitchens from here without going back through the dining hall, but I wasn't sure where. I was never allowed in the kitchens as a child; I had such a reputation for destruction that the servants kept me well away. Instead I got to be lost in my own home, a place I'd lived since I was born. Surely this would do wonders for my mental state. 

I followed the wall to the left and kept walking, naming off the rooms as I passed: a powder room, an office, a door to the watchtower. Along the inside wall were the public parlors, well away from the royal apartments, which were all upstairs. I expected everything inside these rooms to be broken down, overturned, disused, a picture of my own mind, but Cornelia had maintained many of them immaculately. Some of the city's infrastructure had fallen into disrepair, but here the furniture was intact and dusted, the mirrors polished, the candles fresh. Some rooms had lamps animated with magic that cast the wall hangings in striking colors. The more evidence of her care and attention I found, the more ill I felt. Surely there were human lives in Faerghus that could have used such a gentle hand. 

Finding nothing, I turned around and was about to head back when I heard laughter from further on. Too quiet to have been my imagination. I crept along and realized it was coming from the memorial parlor, where sculptures of Loog's friends and companions lined the room leading to a magnificent equestrian statue of the King of Lions himself. I peered into the candlelit dark and found the figure of Pan, whose plinth concealed… someone who sounded like Yuri, and whomever he was flirting with. Beneath the edge of Pan's cloak, I could just make out a fringe of seafoam-green hair framing a strong jaw, and two pairs of lips coming together. 

If someone as remote and ethereal as the professor could find human connection in this war, perhaps there was hope for us all. _Me, too,_ I thought—two nights ago seemed so long, but it was real, up on that ridge with Dedue's body pressing me into the ground, meeting my every demand. And after, when he held me and said he wanted to share my bed, and I fell into a dreamless sleep like I hadn't known in years. I felt whole again, like I belonged to something precious… something like a family. Since then there hadn't been time, we were in bowshot of the city and had an invasion to plan, but today… 

Today, I would probably have to convince him again that it was all right to touch me. 

" _Filth,_ " came the voice again. I swatted it off my shoulder, but of course there was nothing there. 

I turned back down the hall and came across a stairwell I'd missed the first time, heading down. It was on the inside wall and probably led away from the kitchens, but I took it anyway; I'd have to relearn every corridor of this place soon enough. The stairs leveled out to a landing before descending again, and I realized I was aiming for the very center of the castle. Soon enough I found myself face to face with a wrought-iron gate, locked with a deadbolt into the stone, after which the stairs continued further and turned right out of sight. 

This was the path to the royal crypt. 

I hadn't visited my father's tomb since he was laid in it, armed and armored, head reattached to his neck with stitching and an iron bar. The voice that chased me into my nightmares terrified me so badly I couldn't bear to go near. Now it was silent. 

Was the part of me that became him too disgusted to go on, as my stepmother's shade had said? Or was I finally, unbelievably, starting to forgive myself, one vengeful ghost at a time? 

I pulled the bars of the gate against the lock until the bolt warped and came loose, then kicked the whole thing in. Once I stepped over it and turned the corner, the stairway opened up into the burial vault. There were no torches lit inside, not even the bowl of flame at my father's sarcophagus that was supposed to have been ever-burning, but I still had Mercedes's stone with me. I fished it out of my hip pouch and held it out. 

I didn't remember exactly where my father's tomb was, but it should have been easy to find. The Elite Blaiddyd's bones were lost long ago, and Loog's casket had a place of honor in the great cathedral back in town, so my father's was one of the larger, more elaborate settings here. It was done to honor him as a martyr—all overblown, of course, to justify the slaughter that followed in Duscur. What would "hated and murdered by his own countrymen" have gotten him? 

As if in answer, I found him under a pile of debris. Some stones had fallen down from the ceiling, chipping the marble lid and collapsing a wooden trellis that stood at its head. The trellis must have fallen into the fire and burned, leaving only the blue clematis it had been hung with: a gift from the School of Sorcery, whose blooms were still intact after nearly ten years. 

His tomb was in a set of four, including my mother, my uncle, and a modest marker for my stepmother, whose body was never recovered. There was nothing for me, even though Cornelia had faked my death. Perhaps regicidal maniacs did not belong. A good thing, too; if there was a casket with my name on it, I might have climbed in and never come out. 

In fact, it didn't look like anyone had been down here at all since my uncle's interment. Unlike the rest of the castle, there was years of dust on every surface and the candles were burned down to the stick. There should have been a well spigot nearby for cleaning the tombs, but would it have any water reserved after all this time? 

I found it in a back corner—the stone spout was lined with mildew, but when I worked the pump, the water came out clear. I filled a bucket and brought it back to the set of four, along with a brush, and placed the glowing stone in a torch bracket for light. 

I cleared the remains of the trellis off the sarcophagus and was struck by the outline of my father's face. I'd forgotten the lid had an effigy. He stared up at the ceiling, white-eyed, unblinking. His cheeks were dented from the falling rock, but the carving was otherwise undamaged. It was… relieving, honestly, to see his features brought into focus after so long. It helped me remember that he was a real person once, a kind man who loved me, and not just a voice in my head spitting abuse. 

I poured water over the slab and started to scrub the dust and ash from his face. After all these years, it was hard to cut through the invective and recall something that was real about him. He used to tend my mother's and his own parents' caskets as a kind of meditation; I remembered that. We Blaiddyds were so fixated on death. The common wisdom was that crest-bearers lived longer, but we never seemed to, consumed in the flames of our power just like our weapons. 

I had just finished cleaning the effigy and was stooped down to gather the clematis blossoms when heavy footfalls thundered down the stairs. They pulled up short when they crossed into the crypt and found me there. "Your Highness!" 

Dedue! 

I stood up to meet him. He was too far away to make out his face clearly, but I could tell the sight of me with a foolish grin and an armful of flowers was not what he was expecting to find in my father's burial vault. Still, he looked splendid—heaving shoulders, flushed face, collar undone. A few white hairs had come loose from their tie, the exertion of directing a feast for hundreds. 

"I'm glad you're here," I said. "I wanted to see you." 

"Uh…" He came forward and stammered a moment before finding his words. "You… seem fine." 

I cringed, wondering what he'd heard about the feast upstairs. "Should I not be?" 

"Felix came looking for me." His mouth set in a tight line like the memory displeased him. "He said you'd run off and sent me to find you." 

"To subdue me?" 

"No. He would not say so, but I think he was… worried." 

I blinked a few times to clear the disbelief. "Ah. Well, I apologize for causing any distress." 

His shoulders relaxed. "It is enough to know you are well." 

"Strange, isn't it?" I gestured at the room full of my dead ancestors. "I've been bedeviled by the dead for so long, but here I find peace. Maybe the reality of their bones quiets the demons; I don't have to conjure them if they're here lying before me. If only I could convince myself that they're here waiting, where I can see them anytime I please." 

He averted his eyes to my father's tomb and something flashed across his face. Sadness? Regret? Just a hair's breadth, but enough for me to notice. Of course—there were no tombs for him to tend, no pretty resting place to visit those he loved. Not even a village left to walk through and recall old memories at every post and door. It was all gone. My people took it from him. 

"Oh, Dedue, that was thoughtless. I'm so sorry." 

He shook his head, but didn't say anything. I set the flowers down on the casket and stepped forward to embrace him. He went rigid at first, then eased into it, even put his arms around me. His body was still getting used to the idea that we were lovers. 

At least… I hoped we were. 

I turned my face into his shoulder and breathed in. I wished I could smell his skin, but my nose was as blunted as my tongue. There was just this: his shape, his weight, his steady breathing, the soft weave of his scarf on my cheek. It was more than enough. 

"I'll make it right," I said. 

"I know." 

We stayed like that for a while, in among the corpses. I chose to think that my father would have liked Dedue, and been happy to see me have intimate friendships with people from Duscur. As to the rest, I would never know. 

He cleared his throat. "I should have you back upstairs. The others will want to see you well." 

I placed my hand lightly on his chest and looked up. "I'd rather you 'have' me in private." 

He blushed so furiously I could see it in the meager light from the stone. Such a handsome, dignified face, even clawed up with scars. I tangled my fingers in his scarf and leaned in toward his ear. 

"I've been waiting for this all day." 

I took his jaw in my hands and turned it so our lips would meet. Just before I closed the distance, though, he spoke: 

"No." 

I stopped dead and my blood turned to ice. 

"No… what?" 

"I can't do this here." 

"Oh." I glanced around at the caskets that lined the walls. "I… suppose it is a little morbid." 

"No—" He slipped out of my grasp, and I felt the floor begin to crumble beneath my feet. "Here, in this castle." 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Within these walls, you are king. I can't be with you. I—" 

It was suddenly hard to breathe. I felt my own hands at my gorget like it was someone far away. "But you—just the other day, you said—" 

"I said I would share your bed." He pointed through the wall to the world outside. "Out there, on the battlefield. To protect you." 

"That is _not_ what you meant." 

He scowled and looked away. "Out there, we're all just ravening beasts. I can kill a man or give an order, the same as you, and I can… let myself forget some things. In here, it's different." 

"It's no different." I turned around and grabbed the bucket off the floor, walked it over to the well spigot and dumped the leftover water into the basin. "But we've been through all that. I'm not a whore in a field tent who becomes a prince in a castle, Dedue. I'm just a man; I hurt and I bleed and I don't like to be trifled with." 

I turned to see he had followed me. "It's not so easy… to let go of who you are." 

"You think it's easy for me? Can you imagine the guilt I felt the next morning, retracing everything I'd said, afraid I'd somehow ordered you into having sex with me? The only thing that gave me comfort was remembering your words after." 

"No! You didn't." He reached for me but I pulled away; he went down on one knee at my feet. "I—I wanted to. I do want to." 

"Want me or don't, but I won't have this decorum argument with you every time." I wanted to rage at him, but I was already cooling. "It's exhausting having to drag you along at every step. I'll be king until the day I die, and before that I'll have to lead, and struggle, and prove beyond reproach in wisdom and strength at every waking moment just to convince everyone that I'm worthy." 

His eyes ran wet in the darkness. He offered me his hand and I took it. 

"I don't… want to do that with you," I finished. "I just want to enjoy our time together. Who knows how much we have left." 

"I understand, Your Highness." 

I knelt before him and held his hand in both of mine. He had been cooking, so he wasn't wearing gloves; the bare skin was warm and rough and cut through with scars at the knuckles. I pressed my lips against it like I'd done before, filling it with my devotion. _I need you. I adore you. I owe everything to you._

He ran his other hand along my jaw and drew me upward until our mouths met. I was still so raw with emotion that I shivered; he hummed in answer and swept his tongue between my teeth. I caught it with my own and stroked it gratefully—it had been a long, terrible ramble, but finally, finally… 

_*said everyone reading this_

All at once he seemed to realize something and pulled off my mouth to stare at me. 

"You ate my pakoras." 

The look of childish awe on his face was so striking that I laughed. "Of course I did." 

"Were they… to your liking?" 

Even though I couldn't taste them, the joy they brought me was real. I smiled and leaned in toward his face. "Very much." 

He allowed one last chaste kiss before getting up from the floor and taking me with him. We left the crypt and everyone in it behind, but this time, I knew I'd come back with a full heart. 

He tried to get me to return to the dining hall, even if just to put in an appearance, but I escaped and ran up the stairs to the royal apartments instead. He had no choice but to follow. "Better hurry," I called back. "We've been letting people in and out of the castle all day; there must be a dozen assassins in my bedroom by now." 

He barreled after me and tackled me to the carpet in the hallway. I squawked in delight and play-wrestled him until he had me pinned, a knee on either side of my waist and both hands on my wrists. In a real fight, I would have knocked him flat in seconds—he knew it, too—but I liked the idea of his big, muscular body looming over me, a promise of his power and weight and everything he could use it for. 

I stretched out under his grip and smirked. He bent down to kiss me, but I ducked forward and caught his chin on my tongue, dragged it up the side of his face to his cheekbone. 

He grunted. "You… are very bad." 

I chuckled. "So punish me." 

It was a risk. I thought he might balk, or flee. Instead, he let go of one of my wrists and seized my jaw to hold it in place, then traced out my lips with a firm tongue before slipping it inside. I groaned approval and reached around his neck to pull him in. He knocked my arm away and pinned it back to the floor. This was going to be fun. 

He sat up and looked around the hallway. I'd asked my uncle to seal the king's apartments, but Cornelia had opened them up again, probably for her own use. I didn't want to go there, or even to my own chambers; Goddess knew what she had done with them in my absence. 

"What about your room?" I asked. 

When I first brought Dedue to the castle, he stayed with me, two orphaned little boys finding comfort in a shared bed. After a while, though, one of my tutors found out and deemed the whole thing improper. She wanted to throw him out entirely—why should a dark Duscur child live among Faerghus's princes—but I wouldn't let her, so to shut me up, my uncle ordered him installed in some unused servants' quarters near my door. No one liked this compromise except Dedue, who heard words like "improper" and held them up like gold. I wanted him to sneak back in with me, but he wouldn't have it. Now here we were, in a tangle on the rug, about to use the place he'd lived like a suffering anchorite as a fuck den. 

He lifted me off the floor and threw me over his shoulder. When he stood up, I got a strange thrill. How many people had I carried off the battlefield? The dead, the injured, friends, classmates, the professor… even Dedue himself. No one had carried me before, not since I was small. 

Still, I had to know. "Dedue… are you really all right with this?" 

"Hmm." He looped an arm around my back to steady my weight, like I was a sack of hammers. "You said you did not wish to lead. I am here to serve." 

I sighed through my nose and smiled. "So I did." 

Mercifully, his room had gone unused since we left. He hefted me through the door, but had to set me down to find a few candles to light. I pulled off my cape and pelt while I waited for my eyesight to adjust. There was so little here—a bed, a desk, an empty wardrobe. Not even shelves. It was shameful; the dorm rooms at the monastery were more richly appointed. 

I heard him drop the door bolt, and a moment later he stood behind me and brushed the hair back from my neck. I was afraid coming here might change his mind, might reinforce the distance between us again, but when he unfastened my gorget and ran his lips along my throat it dispelled all thought. From now on he would stay with me, where he belonged. I would make sure of it. 

I reached up to snag my fingers in his hair and rolled my head to the side so he could feast. He sucked on my skin like a man starving, scraping it with his teeth, lapping over the marks with his tongue. He pressed his nose behind my ear and breathed in. What did I smell like? Was it sharp? Was it nice? Neither of us had bathed since the battle that morning, but he must have liked whatever scent he found—he released a low growl that made my insides twist. 

I turned around and took his face in my hands. "Pick me up again." 

He grasped my hips and swung me up; I pinned my knees to his waist and descended on his mouth. I felt weightless and ecstatic, like the nerves in my legs had turned to water. He backed me into the wall and laid me out against it, rolling his whole body into me. Already I could feel the start of his erection nudging against my thigh. It made me moan. He wanted me. 

He pinned me to the wall between his groin and his kiss and freed his hands to take off my armor. I kept my own hands on him when I could, shaping out the bulk of his shoulders, his neck, the shaven hair at the back of his head. Once all the plate was peeled off me, he slipped his fingers under my shirt and glided them over my skin, up and down, feeling me out. His touch was rough-textured, delicious and firm; I arched my spine into it. 

He dragged my shirt up over my chest and lifted me up enough that he could close his lips on my left nipple. He massaged it with his tongue until it stood up straight, then bit down. I felt it all the way down my body and cried out, like a bolt of lightning had torn through me. 

What happened to him being inexperienced? He must have given this a lot of thought in the time since, to slide along me so fluidly. And even then, he'd refused me at first. I hoped he understood that he didn't need to deny himself anymore. 

His mouth roamed over me, silky and wet, taking adoring mouthfuls of my every ridge and line. I cradled his head in my hands and grazed my thumbs over his temples. I asked him to look at me and he did; his sincere, steely gaze made me shudder. 

Soon he nosed up to where my shirt was bunched and slowly lifted it away. I raised my arms so he could take it off me, but instead he left it snagged on my elbows, binding them loosely over my head. He buried his face in my armpit and breathed, pushed his tongue into the creases, sucked on the hairs. I whined encouragement and his teeth dug into the soft skin. Every nerve in my body stood on end. 

There wasn't much I could give him with my arms bound, so I braced my heels against his back and ground my hips into him. I was up too high to push our groins together, but I wanted him to feel me, feel how hard he was making me. 

He lifted his head and looked down to admire his handiwork, at my misted eye, my panting, open mouth, the sweat running down my neck. He stroked my right side up and down. "You are lovely." 

I was disfigured as any common pirate, but… I liked to hear it. 

He slid his fingers down my front to unfasten my trousers. He reached into my breeches and took out my cock, firm and ready, eager to be pleased. 

"Mm," he purred, and grazed his scarred knuckles up the length of the shaft, making me groan. He closed his fist around it and came forward to kiss my neck. I felt his chest against mine but it wasn't enough; I wanted his skin. 

"I want to see you too," I said. "Show me your body." 

He set me on the floor and pulled the shirt off my elbows, stripped off my gloves. Before I could reach for him, though, he spun me around, folded my arms behind my back, and tied them together with his scarf. 

My stomach flipped in delight and my cock jumped as the first knot pulled tight. "Ooh…" 

He stepped back. "Could you break this if you wanted to?" 

I steadied myself and pulled against the fabric. "Yes." 

"Good." So saying, he grasped me by the hips and pushed me into the wall, leaned the thick bulge in his groin against the cleft of my ass. I cried out and rocked back, up and down, feeling his length. He held my own bared erection in his grip and squeezed. Goddess, I wanted him to fuck me right there, but I had a feeling there were twists left on his game board. 

He eased my breeches down to my knees, savoring every twitch of muscle as his fingers glided down my thighs. He slid them back up to cup my ass cheeks, rolled them under his palms, bunched them tight against his groin. I was whimpering, literally dripping with need as a pearl of white froth ran down my cock like candlewax. 

"Dedue…" 

He knelt behind me and spread me open. His breath was hot. I gasped at the first touch of his tongue and tossed my shoulders helplessly. He closed his hand around my balls to hold me still and dragged his tongue all up and down the crease, pressed it in firm circles around the opening. 

"Yes, please—" 

He formed the tip into a point and nudged it inside. I grunted all the way down to my gut and bore down to let him in deeper. I'd never felt anything like it—flexible and firm, slippery and searching, circling the rim and boring in and out of me. He had a range of motion that he wouldn't have had with a finger, and moved his jaw up and down like he was deep-kissing my whole body. I was shaking. 

He pushed his face in as far as it would go and lapped at me, all the way in and back, and started to tug on my cock. I moved back a little to ride his mouth, but much more of this and I would be done too soon. 

"Dedue, wait," I panted. "I—" 

He slid back and left a kiss on my rump before speaking. "Yes, Your Highness?" 

I shifted so I could see him over my shoulder. His eyes were heavy with lust and his mouth and chin were wet. Someday it might have been fun to tumble over the edge with his tongue inside me, but—"I don't want to come yet," I said. I was panting. "I've been craving your cock all night." 

Hearing this, he immediately finished undressing me, then stood up to pick me up off the floor again. He swung up my legs and dumped me onto the bed, on my back. Being tossed around like a rag doll got me worked up even more; I could do it all the time. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and paused a moment to stare at me, at the way my arms tied behind my back pushed out my chest and bent my spine into a deep curve. He looked at me like he had snared something rare and beautiful, something that was now his to possess. It was intoxicating. 

That's right—I wasn't a boar; I was a pig in rut, trussed up and desperate to be devoured. 

_Take me, take me._

He let out another growl and hastily tore out of his clothes. That magnificent figure emerged: thick neck, broad shoulders, a strongman's heaving chest. I couldn't wait to be crushed by it. He undid the button on his trousers and his fat cock bobbed into view; it made my heart leap. 

He planted a knee between my thighs and covered me with his body, skin on skin. I wrapped my leg around his hip to hold him down. He put his hand on my throat and kissed me while we slithered against each other, sweat-slick, and I shuddered under his diamond-cut bulk. He held his cock against mine, squeezing them in his fist while he worked them up and down. I pumped my hips into his touch, moaning, and he sat up to do the same in kind, spreading my legs with his waist, a wanton pendulum of our cocks sliding up and back in opposition. 

I watched the clench and release of his stomach as he drove forward into his hand. It was so beautiful. It would look stunning while he was fucking me. 

"Ugh—please," I rasped. "Please, I want you inside me." 

He stopped short and looked suddenly deep in thought, as if he'd just remembered something. It was so silly I almost laughed. He let go of me and got up from the bed to search through his desk drawers; soon enough he came up with a small vial, quarter-full of clear liquid. He pulled the stopper out to sniff the contents, then tested a drop on his fingers to make sure it still rubbed smooth. 

I sat up on my elbows. "You just happen to have that?" 

"I—" He blushed hard and cleared his throat. He looked up at the ceiling as if for guidance, then sighed and gave in. "I used to… lie awake in this room and think of you. Of what it might be like if we were… together. I used this on myself, back then." 

I felt suddenly warm. He'd wanted me all this time. 

"But you left it here; you didn't take it with you to the academy?" 

"I was… trying to cure myself of shameful habits." 

That sounded like him. "Did it work?" 

"No." 

Now it was my turn to blush. 

I pulled myself up into a proper sitting position. "What did you think about?" I twisted playfully against my bonds. "What sort of 'shameful' things did we do?" 

He looked so embarrassed. "I was… very innocent back then. We've long surpassed the breadth of my imagination." 

Poor Dedue, alone in this room, touching himself and dreaming of sweet kisses while I was off getting rolled in the hay by a stable hand. Part of me wished I had known, but… back then, I would have refused him. He was my ward; I was responsible for him. Even agreeing to his overtures would have felt like taking advantage. It wasn't so different now, but at least we were adults, and he had other places to go where he could thrive and be loved without needing my favor. 

Not that I wanted him to. 

I smiled and tipped my head to beckon him over. He came close and stooped down, leaned his forehead against mine. "Well… I'm glad I could grant at least one of your wishes." I nuzzled him and swept my tongue over his lips. "There will be more, I swear it." 

He sighed reverently and lifted my chin. "Yes, Your Highness." 

For once, I let him kiss me as gently as he liked. 

He eased me back onto the bed, then finished taking off his clothes. He rejoined me once he'd filled his hand with oil, spreading it up the inside of my thigh before reaching up to grasp my cock. His grip was deliciously wet, sliding all up and down, massaging the head under his thumb until I squirmed. But when he started to move his hand down farther between my legs, he hesitated. 

"I—" He reddened. "I've never done this before. Will you instruct me?" 

This time, I couldn't help but laugh. "After that tongue trick, I think you'll do just fine." 

This seemed to settle him. He slid his whole hand between my legs and stroked back and forth in the cleft, getting it drenched. I licked my lips when I felt the first press of his fingertip, thinking of his broad, heavy knuckles; I wondered if I would feel the ridges of his scars. He eased it inside and I moaned gratefully. Soon… 

"Mmn," he grunted. "It's soft…" 

He worked me open in a twisting motion, keeping his thumb pressed against the rim in a way that drove me wild. I drew my knees against my chest and answered with juddering thrusts of my hips as he moved wider and deeper, adding more fingers. Seed dribbled out of my cock onto my stomach; he bent his head to lick it off. 

"Dedue, hurry," I whined. "Please…" 

He left me just for a moment to pour more oil on himself, then came back and stood at the edge of the bed. He opened my legs and stared down at me, still bound, back arched, breathing hard. His striking green eyes made my heart race as he took hold of his own cock and stroked it in anticipation. He regarded me like a hunter examining prey in a trap, considering how best to skin me. 

He put his hands on my waist and turned me onto my knees, head and shoulders on the bed. I twisted as best I could to watch him through my one eye, but it all melted into a haze when he grasped me by the hips and pushed his cockhead inside me. Despite all his work to prepare me, he was still so thick that he had to go slowly, and I felt every delectable inch as it kneaded back and forth, stretching me open. I braced myself on my shoulder and swung back, taking him deeper than he intended, and he rewarded me with a groan. 

He retreated almost all the way back, but before he could press forward again, I clamped down hard and gripped the head in a tight ring of muscle. He swore in Duscur words I'd never heard before and swatted my ass with an open palm. " _Very_ bad." 

"Oh," I moaned, swirling my hips in a circle as I enjoyed the stinging imprint of his hand. "If that's supposed to deter me…" 

He planted a knee on the bed and thrust forward, knocking me into momentary compliance. He fucked me so gently, with firm, loyal strokes, easing deeper and deeper inside until I felt the swell of his abdomen against my backside. He bent over me, covering my body, and kissed my neck and shoulder as he seated himself fully. The sigh that came out of me was so relieved and so wanton—this was what I wanted. The peace that swept all else out of my head was like the peace of the training ground, like the reassuring weight of a lance… only better, because Dedue was here with me, within me. He was the one that made me feel this way. 

He crossed his right leg over my hip for leverage and rocked into me, at first slow, then powerful and rhythmic, using all his muscle to surge forward. The bedframe cracked against the stone like a drumbeat, faster and louder, rushing me to my end. He kept his cock in deep, barely retreating. It felt so good I could hardly breathe. 

"Dedue…" 

I tried to give back where I could, but he lifted my left leg and shifted me onto my side. It was easier to see this way, but harder to push back on him, so I just kept my eye on his bunching abs and whined helplessly while they drove him into me. His voice came out in grunts and stilted breaths, growls when I squeezed his cock just the right way. 

Soon he turned me back onto my knees and dragged me into an upright kneel, pulling me flush against his body. His chest pressed against my back and bound arms, gliding up and down with each thrust. At this angle, his cock raked the front of me, scraping up and back over the little knot in my gut where an orgasm was bound up tightly, waiting to be knocked free. My head fell back against his shoulder and I moaned, loud and long. 

"Mm." He kissed my hair and slid one of his hands around to fondle my cock. "It gets so hard when I'm inside you." 

A whimpering "yeah" was all I could manage. My thighs were quaking. He kept hitting me just right, brushing up against the knot without breaking it. I was melting into a puddle of need. 

He closed his hand and jerked me off while pounding his cock into me. All I could do was cry out in delight. His breathing had gone ragged and his rhythm was failing, interrupted with sharp thrusts when desire overcame his control. Good. I was not long for this world. 

Just as I felt the edge of the cliff beneath me, I mustered all my strength and clenched down around him like a fist, milking him out. I heard him shout, and he bent me forward and fucked me until I came screaming, bathing his hand in seed. A moment more and he followed me over, shuddering. Filling me up. I did one last lean back against his softening cock, wanting to feel the seal of his skin against mine just once more before we parted. 

"Ngh," he grunted. "Dimitri…" 

I was happy. I felt a light inside my ribs like I hadn't known for many years. 

Still, I was routed. I crawled off him and collapsed on the bed, still bound. He waited a moment to catch his breath before untying me, then pulled my arms up and forward to make sure they were still limber. He lay down behind me and wrapped me into an embrace so he could massage the feeling back into them. 

I snuggled back against his chest. Even in the afterglow, his big muscles gave me a thrill. "You're so sexy," I said. 

He sat up and looked at me like I'd said something shocking. " _I_ am?" 

"Heh." 

I should have gotten up and cleaned myself off, but I didn't want to move. Maybe never again. No kingdom, no army, no war. Just blissful idleness and the love of this man to sustain me. 

"We should go back downstairs at some point," he said. 

"Mm." I shifted into the bedsheets and shut my eye. "No." 

"The others might be looking for us." 

"You go, if you want." I turned onto my back and stretched. "I'm exhausted. I should have you fuck me to sleep every night." 

I couldn't see him, but I imagined him turning red. "This is not a sustainable solution." 

"Whyever not?" 

He cleared his throat and turned back into a disciplinarian. "Once this war ends, you will have certain responsibilities to the Kingdom. Among them, giving it an heir." 

I honestly couldn't tell if he was joking. I blinked my eye back open. "You want to talk about this now?" 

"You should marry Ingrid," he said, as dispassionately as if he were advising me on whether to stock turnips or beets in the food stores. "It would resolve her family's financial condition, and she would bear you strong children." 

"I'm not going to _marry_ Ingrid." To say nothing of the obvious, she was more like my sister than Edelgard had ever been. But I decided to play along. "Besides, on my ninth birthday, I swore a solemn oath that I would only marry Cassandra." 

"Hmm." He touched a finger to his cheek like this was worthy of serious consideration. "Also a fine woman." 

"Yes, and as she is _also_ in love with someone else, we'd be well suited." 

"Um…" His brow crossed as he tried to disassemble what I'd said. "What?" 

I grabbed him by the jaw and planted a kiss on his closed mouth so he wouldn't give it too much thought. "Go to sleep." 

"But—" 

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. We stopped short and stared at it, as if it might fly open of its own accord, but the bolt was still laid across it. 

It was Yuri's silky voice that wound through the cracks. "Dedue? Are you in there?" 

Of all the people in this castle, Yuri would be the least scandalized by happening upon us like this, but the look Dedue gave me was so severe I rolled my eye and pulled the bedsheets over me. 

"Yes," he said. "Just a moment." 

While he pulled himself into some manner of presentable dress, I turned around and figured out how to tent the sheets so I wouldn't be easily seen. I even left a little gap in a fold that was just big enough for me to watch the door while hiding my face in shadow. 

"We're looking for the prince; have you seen him?" 

By the time Dedue lifted the bolt, he'd made it into his trousers but only half-buttoned his doublet; his white hair was hastily smoothed. He pulled the door open to reveal Yuri, looking not at all disheveled himself, even though the professor was standing behind him. 

"I found His Highness earlier," Dedue said. "He is well, but prefers to be alone tonight." 

Yuri's nostrils flared, and a slow grin crawled across his face. He didn't even have to notice my wolf pelt, discarded on the floor in plain sight, to know that I was there. "Riiight." He held up a scroll, still sealed. "Well, we've just had this letter come in from the Alliance. Their messenger was in some haste. Perhaps you could take it to the prince, friend?" He winked. "You know… _if_ you see him." 

He swept away with a wave and disappeared down the hall, professor in tow. Dedue slammed the door shut and banged his head against it. 

I threw off the sheet and held out my hand for the letter. "Let's have it." 

He handed it to me, still looking sour. I tore off the seal and let it unroll while I read the first few lines. When the meaning came clear, I leapt to the floor. 

"Claude's in trouble." 

Dedue took the scroll from me and read it himself. "The Alliance asks us for help? After they attacked us without provocation at Gronder?" 

"Yes!" I stooped down to gather my clothes. "That means it's not too late. We can mend that relationship, even establish friendly ties between our nations again. Going to their aid will help ensure peace in Fódlan comes that much faster. Don't you see? I didn't…" 

I stopped and looked up at him. 

"I didn't… ruin everything." 

He got me to my feet and swung me up into his arms. I embraced him gratefully and buried my face in his neck. 

"Of course you didn't," he said. 

"I want to ride out right away. I want to make this right." 

"Hmm." One of his hands was positioned right under my naked ass; by moving it just a little, he found a trail of his own come that had slipped out of me. "Perhaps a bath first, Your Highness." 

"Oh, very well. If Cornelia took over my father's chambers, I'm sure the water heater in there is still working." I jumped down to the floor and grabbed for my cape. "I suppose everyone will want to sleep off the wine tonight, anyway. Speaking of, I'll need you to run me down to exhaustion again, now that I'm worked up." 

"I live to serve you, my lord," he said, with a small smile. "As ever." 

So saying, he followed me into the hall, and we walked side by side into the castle's night.


End file.
